Chosen of the One: Chapter 9, Part 3

16 January 2026

We return with another installment of our epic fantasy, Chosen of the One: Book 1 of The Redemption, with the conclusion of Chapter 9, and the first casualties in Gar’s war against the land, against the chosen. . . . (17 February 2014) We again remind our readers to right-click on the Glossary link, open in a new tab or window, thus enabling the reader to learn what each of these new terms mean.

Chapter 9, Part 3

Thal staggered to the outer doors leading Marble, pushed them open, and crossed the yard then went through the front gate. He led Marble past the front door to the tower’s west side and onto the telepad. Kalamar walked next to Blakstar.

“Sir Blakstar,” he began.

“Please, Hierarch,” the kortexi interrupted, “to you, just Blakstar.”

Kalamar smiled, then repeated, “Sir Blakstar, I would be grateful if you would look out for Thalamar until he comes into his full power; his curiosity often gets the better of his good sense and leads him into trouble. I hope it is nothing that you and your companions cannot handle. Trouble not over the past; always keep in mind who and what you represent; may all your dreams be fulfilled,” he finished, clasping the kortexi’s hand. Blakstar looked surprised by the Hierarch’s words, but led his mount onto the telepad next to Thal and his mount when the old maghi released his hand. Kalamar’s eyes glistened as he turned to Thal. “I’m sure your mother gave you some good advice: remember it, and follow it. Don’t forget to study daily, so that your powers continue to grow. Save your ortheks like a miser until the last moment, then use whatever is necessary to overcome what you face. Finally, be true to the promises you have made to the One.”

“Thank you, father,” Thal said, voice shaking. “I will return when we have finished the task for more instruction. Give my love to mother.” He held up his right hand, palm outward.

Kalamar also raised his right hand. “Our love and hopes go with you, my son.” A tear ran down his cheek. “Our thoughts will always be with you.” He raised his rod and tapped it twice on the telepad, causing the symbol to glow brightly with white light. “Verataint-torekwe-rumepant-adshigmar!” he growled, and the young wethem disappeared in a flash of white light and a thunderclap. Kalamar leaned heavily on his rod and pulled a white lace handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his eyes. He turned at the sound of pounding hooves and the creaking of a cart. He saw Nelle ride up to the tower and jump down before cart and horse had completely stopped.

“Did you just send them off?” Nelle asked.

Kalamar nodded and made his way slowly toward her and the front door to the tower.
“Just now.”

“That was close,” Nelle said. “I just crashed through a horde of Gar’s creatures prowling about the teka fences. They attacked the village: I saw the smoke and returned, hoping you had gotten them off before the noose tightened around us.” She reached her husband’s side, took his arm, and helped him into the tower. They started up the stairs, climbing to the top floor. When they stood beneath the trap door leading onto the roof, Nelle spoke the word of command, “rumandu,” opening the door above, then raised her platinum rod. Kalamar touched her rod, then Nelle said, “steighud-nes,” and they both floated up through the trap door and onto the roof.

“I have known since the melting of winter,” Nelle began, “that the end was near; it has been difficult to conceal from Thal.”

Kalamar nodded, and turned to the east, his eyes going distant. He turned a full circle, then smiled. “Gar must really fear us.”

She shrugged. “We have known that for many years.”

Kalamar touched his wife’s arm, fondly. “He sent three ponkolum, along with a legion of purem and ghelem.”

Nelle looked surprised. “Three? And a legion?”

Kalamar nodded. “If they raise their hands against us, we will cross over knowing that we have diminished his waning supply of his favorite servants; there will be fewer left after today.”

Nelle smiled, and kissed Kalamar’s cheek. “They will raise their hands against us,” she noted. “They will lose most of their forces breaking down our teka fences. They could not return to Gar without attacking us.”

“I feel the fences weakening,” Kalamar noted, “we will not wait long.”

They turned to the northeast, where most of the assault was concentrated, and saw smoke rising.

“It is a shame to burn the forest,” Nelle said.

“It will not last long,” Kalamar replied, “the storm they hit us with last evening will ensure that,” Kalamar said.

A red flash followed by a booming concussion shook the stones under their feet. Hordes of ghelem driven forward by purem, who were in turn led by the three ponkolum, rushed out of the smoking forest northeast of the tower. The two old maghem of Melbarth hurled exploding fireballs at the ghelem; the ordered ranks of the ghelem ripped apart, leaving nothing but steam and ash where the fireballs landed. The outer edges of the gheli ranks were hurled from their feet by the blast, and the few who survived lay charred and steaming. The purem and their trio of leaders were unaffected by the flames, being creatures half of fire, and they surged closer to the tower. Kalamar and Nelle held their arms toward the purem, fingers spread, and multi-forked bolts of lightning shot out, slicing through the lines of purem, reducing any touched by a bolt to gray ash and smoke. The ponkolum waved the bolts aside. The two maghem atop the tower joined hands and raised their rods to the sky. Clouds gathered from all directions while the remaining purem marched forward. In moments, black clouds hovered over the attackers; lightning flashed as the clouds grew higher and darker. As the purem and their leaders neared the stable yard, melon-sized chunks of ice fell on them, tearing through most of the remaining purem; the ponkolum raised shields of fire over their heads, deflecting the huge hail, which then destroyed all the purem around them. The few survivors broke and fled for the safety of the trees, but the ponkolum raised their arms and beat their huge, leathery wings, dispersing the clouds.

One of the ponkolum laughed. “Old fools! Can you not see that our power is greater than yours? Surrender your son,” he snarled derisively, “and we might let you live.”

Kalamar laughed in turn. “Gar will not be pleased with you, losing all of your army. But I think he would be more displeased if you got yourselves destroyed! Leave now, before the light of the One consumes you.”

“You cannot frighten us with your empty threats!” the first shouted and the other two continued to laugh. “Surrender your apprentice, and your death will be quick.”

In response, Kalamar sent more bolts of lightning at the ponkolum, but there were fewer forks than there had been before. The ponkolum easily turned them aside, still laughing; what they failed to see was that in the moment that he sent lightning at them, Nelle pulled a fist-sized blue ball out of the air and lobbed it toward the ponkolum, occupied with the lightning. The blue ball grew as it passed over them, sinking gently in the air to a point about four feet behind them at the level of their shoulders. Nelle jerked her rod up; the ball exploded hurling razor sharp shards of ice at the ponkolum’s unprotected wings and backs, tearing large holes in the wings and embedding themselves in their backs, where the fragments of ice hissed and steamed. The ponkolum howled in pain, staggering forward several steps.

“Nice one, wife,” Kalamar said.

Nelle smiled. “That should do the trick.”

The three ponkolum then combined their power, creating a huge ball of pure, red flames that hummed like a nest of angry wasps. After the ball was as wide as the tower, the three, in unison, threw their arms and bodies forward, and the red ball shot toward the maghem on the tower. Two platinum rods raised a wall of liquid green force, slightly angled, so that the ball of power shot heavenward, bursting overhead. But the force of the ponkolum’s fury had done its work: both maghem were thrown from their feet and hurled backward, sliding across the tower’s roof to the other side, Kalamar striking the parapet.

Nelle rolled to his side and took him in her arms. “Husband?”

Kalamar’s eyes barely opened; he whispered: “At least we will cross over together.” He managed a weak smile, mirrored by Nelle.

Before the last rumbles of the previous ball went silent, the ponkolum combined power again, creating a second ball of humming red force, filling it with the rage and pain they felt, and hurled it at the tower. It struck the roof and the maghem, just as they smiled at each other. Most of the roof and the two maghem, still holding to each other, were destroyed in the blast.

The ponkolum started to laugh, but stopped suddenly when the light on the hilltop dimmed, the color fading from everything. Dead silence followed; mist descended on the hilltop. The ponkolum looked around. A crack of thunder split the silence; the hilltop rumbled and shook in response. The few surviving ghelem and purem bolted for the trees, fleeing and hoping to escape from they knew not what. A point of brilliant white light winked on at the top of the ruined tower, growing in size and intensity until it was brighter than one-hundred suns. When the tower was obscured by the blinding brilliance of the light, it exploded from the tower, consuming the ponkolum, who had turned to flee, and the remains of their forces, wiping the hilltop clean, so that no trace remained to show anyone that the ghelem or the purem had ever been there. The elemental fences surrounding the tower began to renew themselves; purple light began to emanate from the tower beneath the damaged roof, and the area immediately around the tower–gardens, stable, and henhouse–to establish a ditistas. Hands invisible to the naked eye began the slow process of repairing the damaged roof. At sunset, a lone wolf howled mournfully in the distance to the north, marking the passing of Kalamar and Nelle, white maghem of Melbarth; a shadow moved under the trees, passing the teka fences before they closed completely, approaching the tower and canceling the ditistas, the figure now mourning the loss of family, mistress, and beloved, all in a single day. . . .

Return tomorrow for another Poet’s corner and on Monday for another installment where we rejoin Blakstar and Thal as they travel through rumepant on their way to Shigmar and the school of the kailum. You can download the full version of Chosen of the One from Smashwords for free! If you prefer print, use the links to purchase a copy.